


Not letting go

by Flauschvieh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, TW: Attempt of suicide /suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flauschvieh/pseuds/Flauschvieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the kink from the musketeers meme: “I want to see Athos consider/attempt suicide, and his friends either beg him down or rescue him from himself. They try to make it clear to him that they love him and can't imagine a world without him, and while he doesn't immediately cast off his demons and look to the sun, maybe for the first time he really understands that his pain causes them pain. And he doesn't want to hurt them. </p><p>Gen or OT3 preferred, but anything welcome.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not letting go

**Author's Note:**

> Be very careful if you are triggered by suicidal thoughts or depression. This story has a good ending though, because even though I found the kink and the intense feelings behind this intriguing (and to a part I can sympathise with the melancholic side of Athos) I clearly DON'T support any attempt of suicide. It's never a solution, get yourself help if you are having certain thoughts and be sure, that you are loved and needed by people around.

Athos has had too much wine.

He’s feeling intoxicated and light-headed and sick by it all at once, like his body is trying to relieve itself from any remains he has fed into himself during the last hours. The remaining bottle of the previous three, which he has had, tangles from his hand uselessly, like the last grasp on the world.

He positions his feet considerately beside each other on the edge of the stone ledge that descends abrupt down into the dark water of the Seine.

He has chosen this. Not a bullet from his pistol or the sharpened blade of a knife pressed to the throat on an instinct. And also not the vial of poison on which he probably would have gotten hands on all so easily. If the pay is right, nobody asks questions.

Because nobody cares.

Athos huffs and takes a last sip from the bottle before he lets it drop into the black water, where it hits surface with a splash and thereafter is not seen again.

Dying is a dull affair. One just vanishes from the surface of the world. And it’s usually not to make an impression – but to disappear, give in and ease the weight on the shoulders that has become to crushing to bear at a point…

It is, Athos muses, to free the mind and leave the world; quite poetic thought, worthy for one of Aramis’ psalms. The resemblance is uncanny: fighting a battle that cannot be won where the only resolution is to exit and be done with it. Why bother?

And why bother friends and the people who chose to be close one so damaged. Athos does not intent to let them suffer on his ill-temper anymore. Being a third wheel is what it has come down to, hasn’t it? A wheel with a crack that constantly needs pushing.

Nobody needs that and Athos thinks grimly, nobody is going to miss the shadow beside the hearty laugh that is Porthos and the insightful spirit which is Aramis.

Porthos and Aramis .. - they have got each other and there is also d’Artagnan. Maybe the younger can take his place and disband him from his life’s duty. Since it seems like he can’t outrun the drowning shadows from his past, he might as well let them swallow him.

Anne, no, Milady wants him dead. So this would make for two people then, and maybe, Athos thinks, at least his wife can be at ease and rest when it’s done. He would be doing her a favor. If he just disappeared now.

Athos doesn’t care about people’s minds nor what they probably might think of this in the aftermaths. And he does not want to leave a mess,though, therefore no shot in the head, which would spill the insides of his brain mingled with blood everywhere to his room.. or choking on his own vomit when the stomach fights the urge to throw up the poison from his digestive system again.

He’s disgusted and also ashamed just by the thought of someone, a servant or the maid assigned to clean the mess that would be his last remains.

It’s more discreet like this, he finds. It has to do with dignity. Just diving into the pitch dark stream and let himself be chased away.

A cool breeze sweeps alongside Athos’ solmn face and plays with his hair, loosely. He has lost the hat. He can’t remember exactly, where he left it but he wouldn’t want for anyone to have it after him either.

His fingers clench the wooden railing of the bridge in his back – when he leans forward he can already feel his weight being dragged down by gravity.. he would only have to let go the grasp of his fingers digging into the wood, for sheer life.

If he can.

Athos breathes in, taking in a deep breath that gets stuck in his chest with a hitch of his throat. The dizziness of the alcohol subsides for a moment and leaves the pain and feelings bare. The self-pitty and self-loathing and his eyes burn as he looks up to the moon, feeling pathetic as he tried, for the umpteenth time to make a decision, if he is being brave – or running with his tail between his legs.

 

But before he can shift his weight and give in to the darkness of the pitch welcoming and drawing him closer by any minute, there is a sudden yank at the collar of his doublet.

It’s a strong and firm hand, a warm grasp that’s slightly shaking. And as Athos turns his head he sees Porthos starring at him in pure horror. His expression distorted in shock and disbelief, like Athos has never seen the friend before.

“Athos!”, calls the voice that belongs to Aramis, unmistakable. “God, what are you… Don’t. Please, don’t. Mother of God, please just come down from there.”

His friend’s voice is strangled and it makes the burn in Athos’ eyes sting with intensity. When you are ready to let go of everything, facing someone who actually still cares is painful.

Also they know. He did not want them to, for heaven’s sake. He wanted to do it by himself and unwatched. But it’s futile now. And Athos tries hard to no let anger and exasperation well up in him as he shifts slightly, only so to face them, but instantly the strangling grab on his collar tightens.

Porthos will rather strangle him by his own hands or let himself by dragged down as well rather than letting go, Athos realizes.

The taller man makes a sharp hissing sound, his dark eyes still wide and staringaccusingly. And suddenly, Athos is sorry… he is grieved. He wanted to end it for all of them and not make it an even heavier burden. But Porthos cuts in his thoughts, sharp and bright like a beacon.

And the man’s voice sounds pleading, making the heart clench by it's muscles.

“Athos, stop. If you don’t climb to this side of the railing in the next minute I’m going to lift you up.”

It’s the utter surety and resoluteness in his friend’s voice that makes Athos blink. And like following a direct order, he lifts his leg over the post and then drops beside them to solid ground, carefully hold upright by Porthos’ hold on him, still.

He won’t let go of him, they find.

In the light of the street lamp, Aramis is pale as a sheet.

Both friends are still staring at him unflinching – then Aramis’ hand suddenly hits Athos’ face and jerks his head to the side. His cheek is burning under the slap, as Athos’ own hand finds the spot. The stinging sensation feels somewhat more alive than anything in the previous days Athos had endured..

For the longest count of seconds they just stare at each other. Then Porthos lets his grip loose and sags in his posture. “Why..?” he utters. “Why would you ever do that to us?”

Athos is in loss of a word to say. His throat is tight, disappointment and relief still fighting for the upper hand in him.

“I am sorry…”

“For you or for us?” Aramis snaps. He’s always cold when he’s hurt. He’s not like Porthos, open and concerned with a warm aura that tells everything. And Aramis is hurt very bad. The accusation in his eyes and the pain that lies within is an even more painful hit to Athos than the blow to his face.

And it’s this, combined with the warm fingers brushing against his neck that show him what he needed to know and was to blind to even realize during the time. He is loved, and needed here and he belongs exactly the place where he is standing now: right beside Porthos and Aramis – just the three of them together, inextricable.

“I will not do it again”, Athos says finally. And he finds, he means it.

He sees that Porthos and Aramis both care for him so much, more than he ever expected. It’s not that he is feeling he shouldn’t try to end his life again - more that he doesn’t want to. There is no need. Not when he has them around him as he has now, probably the most fortunate man he could imagine…

It’s young d’Artagnan, shy and reluctant, keeping himself distant to the event, who in the end brings him his hat back. He has found it lying on the street and looked after it like something to treasure, because it’s Athos’and it’s a part of him.

 


End file.
